


and yet

by cartoonheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 16:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: Set immediately after the end of 15x17.Why does she still feel like she's missed something, skipped a step somehow? There's a lump sitting uneasily in her chest, like it's trying to send her a message. But she's done the right thing, hasn't she? Done what he asked?





	and yet

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm meant to be working on the sequel for [erase and rewind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17567306/chapters/41401607) (I promise I am), but after 15x17, I just had to quickly write this. Probably to process my own feelings more than anything else.
> 
> One shot. 
> 
> Thanks as always to [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho) who lets me talk about all my Merluca feelings pretty much constantly and who kindly beta-ed this for me.

She walks out of the lab, leaving him alone. Because that's what he says he wants, and she wants to respect that.

And yet. _And yet_.

Why does she still feel like she's missed something, skipped a step somehow? There's a lump sitting uneasily in her chest, like it's trying to send her a message. But she's done the right thing, hasn't she? Done what he asked?

And yet.

She knows by now that Andrew is one for feelings. Having them. Expressing them. It's something she's had to get used to, because that's just how he is, how he's built. So him _not_ talking about his feelings is different and new. It's a cloud in what is normally a stretch of blue sky. An anomaly that could be a sign of a bigger storm to come. 

That said, what does she know? They're still only getting used to each other, still learning each other's ways and tics. She thought she had been starting to get a good sense of him. But, she acknowledges, that's not the same as _knowing_ someone, and he does seem to have this endless capacity to surprise her, even when she thinks she's finally figured him out. 

But it's fair to say this situation has clearly thrown him for a loop. It's uncharacteristic of him to be so ungracious, almost on the attack, even if it had seemed somewhat resigned, almost perfunctory. And yes, it had bugged her. Meredith has no regrets that she told him so. But nevertheless, walking away when he was so clearly in trouble feels wrong somehow. She wants to respect him, respect his wishes. And god knows, she's been in plenty of emotional crises of her own where being near another human being felt like sandpaper on skin. But it's him, and so it matters that she gets this right. 

But ultimately, can she really say she can tell what he wants? Isn't it just safer to take his words at face value? 

Earlier, she'd felt relieved. Felt like they'd finally gotten back on track. And it had surprised her as to how much she'd found that meant to her. They hadn't been fighting exactly, but they had been on tentative ground with this research and his father, and her general apprehension of the whole situation. And she had wanted to trust it, trust him, if only for the sole reason that he had asked her to. But it didn't take much for her to see that Andrew had a blind spot when it came to his father. And as an adult with a messed up childhood herself, she can understand how easily that could happen. So she accepts that whatever had occurred today between Andrew and his father was a jumble of professional and personal disappointment that he needed to process, and that wouldn't be easy.

So she was right to walk away, right?

And yet.

Meredith can't lie. Earlier today, Jackson's teasing had thrown her too. _Boyfriend_. Was Andrew her boyfriend? She was a single mother of three - a _widow_. The word boyfriend didn't feel right. It didn't fit with where her life was, just as much as it didn't fit with what they were to each other. 

_Boyfriend_.

He was something, but he wasn't that. And part of her feels like she hasn't known him long enough to really label him as anything at all. Even though that's not true. She's known Andrew years, although she'd never really seen him, not as the man he is now, the one that's crawled under her skin. Is it because she was blind, or not ready, or because he's changed? Meredith thinks it's probably a combination of all three, but does it even matter? She can't reprimand herself for whatever has come before. She can only think about the electric current that seems to run through her every time he walks in a room. It was a feeling that had been torturing her since before he had asked her to consider him an option, even if she'd never quite figured out the reason until that moment. But nowadays she can't ignore the pleasure that curls in the pit of her stomach when he catches her eye across the operating table, across the bar, across the cafeteria. It shifts her mind back to a rooftop, or a bar overlooking Lake Union, and the way he seems to orbit around her gently, slowly, but with an ever decreasing distance.

But now? Does she know that man in the lab, with his dark expression and defeated shoulders? He's a stranger, dressed in a familiar face, and she's not sure where she stands with him. 

So yes, she doesn't know him. And yet she does. Meredith knows things about him that a year ago would have never crossed her mind. Like his coffee order (an Americano), and how he smells (like peppermint, and some sort of heady aftershave that she's afraid to ask him about, because she doesn't want him to think she's noticed). She also knows things that other people don't know. Like the way he kisses her (tenderly, but with a hint of underlying urgency, like at any moment he'll lose control but never quite does), and like how his father has left him with scars that he tries to hide (she can relate) but that have lately become impossible for him to ignore. 

So when he says he wants to be alone, she's confused. Because it could be true. It could be. But it also could be that he thinks this isn't something for her to deal with. After all, they haven't even had sex yet. They were still in the kissing-in-secluded-rooms-like-teenagers stage. She still baulks at the word _boyfriend_. Surely they aren't at the place where it's for her to unravel this tangled family mess that he's tied to, and talk him down off this ledge.

And yet. And yet.

\---

Amelia comes home from her conference, and leaves her suitcase in the hall and flops down on the couch.

"How was it?" Meredith asks her sister, taking in the high heels and the fitted blazer and the slightly distracted air on Amelia's face.

"It was... great," Amelia replies, but her voice is far away, like her mind is not on this planet, barely even in this galaxy. 

There's something to unpack there, but Meredith's distracted herself, because she's made a decision.

"Can you stay here with the kids for a bit?" They are already in bed, so it isn't much of an ask, and Amelia looks like she's about to pass out where she sits any minute now.

Amelia nods dutifully. "Are you going back to the hospital?"

Meredith doesn't want to lie, but also doesn't want to get into the truth right now. So she pulls on some shoes, and grabs her bag and keys. "I've just got to check on someone."

\---

She's only been here once, but she remembers his address, although she'd never gotten any further than the outside porch. They've got a history of interruptions already and it's barely been any time at all. She doesn't know if that bodes well, but she's here now, trying, and that's what counts.

She rings the buzzer next to his name, wishing that she didn't have to stand out here, exposed and in the cold. Maybe she should have called ahead, but she's not even sure if he'll answer her calls right now. And she figures ignoring her on his doorstep is a lot more difficult than ignoring her name on the screen of his phone. 

"Hello?" his voice crackles on the intercom, making him feel a million miles away, and emotionally, maybe that's not so far from the truth. He sounds annoyed.

"It's me," she answers, hoping that she's not being presumptuous in expecting him to be able to identify her by voice alone. But that's what she's gone with and she's sticking to it. "Can I come up?"

There's a long pause and she's not sure whether he's considering her request or if he's even still there, but all of a sudden the front door buzzes and she throws her body weight against it before he can change his mind.

She takes the stairs up one floor and as she rounds the corner, he's already waiting for her, leaning against the frame of his front door, brow creased in confusion. Her mind is already whirling, casting doubt on a decision that she'd felt so sure about only minutes before. This could be a mistake, she thinks, but at the same time she sees the sorrow behind his eyes, and immediately she can sense that it's not.

"What are you doing here?" His voice is soft and sad, but not accusatory, perhaps just surprised to see her. There are dark circles under his eyes, and she knows they aren't solely from lack of sleep. She wrings her hands in front of her, trying to find the right words for the situation. Her eyes scan him. He's wearing jeans and a soft blue t-shirt that's misshapen around the neck, like it's seen better days. He has socks on but no shoes.

She breathes out. "Are you okay?" It doesn't answer his question, but it feels appropriate in the circumstances. 

He seems to mull it over, clearly struggling with his reply. Finally he settles on one. "I don't know," he sighs, giving her a doleful look that makes her want to wrap her arms around his middle. She resists.

"Can I come in?" Meredith would prefer for whatever conversation is about to take place to not happen in the hall.

He nods and steps aside to let her move past. Despite the tension she feels, her eyes trace greedily over his apartment, taking in everything, all the little trinkets that make up his life. It's small but homely. And very tidy for the most part, although he does have books everywhere, and a guitar case lying on the floor. There's half a beer sitting on his coffee table, condensation still sliding down the glass bottle. The label has been half torn off and shreds of it lie scattered on the tabletop, like he's been taking out his frustration on the soggy piece of paper.

"It's nice," she comments, for a lack of anything else to say. It's a bit impersonal, feels a bit like she's following polite etiquette, but she needs some time to warm into this. This isn't the situation she'd imagined when entering his apartment for the first time. And it _certainly_ wasn't what they had discussed earlier in the week, when his tongue tasted like her gifted coffee, and he'd confessed that he'd missed her in a way so unashamed that she'd almost melted right there on the spot. She'd missed him too, even if something had prevented her for saying so right then and there.

"Thanks," he murmurs quietly, voice smooth like butter. He closes the door behind him with a click. "Do you want a beer?"

She does, but she's driving, so reluctantly shakes her head. He stands there, staring at her, and she's not really sure what to do with that. His hair looks like he's run his hands through it a thousand times, and his bottom lip seems puckered from where he's been gnawing on it. Her heart aches a little and she resolves herself. She drops her bag on the floor, signalling her intent that this isn't a fleeting visit, that she's not just here to check in and then leave again. 

Meredith takes a few steps towards him, and something in his body language changes, like the wall that he's carefully constructed around himself has started to fracture. Her presence seems to undo him, his eyes desperate to communicate whatever he'd not really been able to say earlier.

She stops before him, her feet almost touching his. She steels herself.

"When you said you wanted to be alone today - did you really mean that?" Meredith's not really sure where the question has come from, but now that she's said it, it does feel like the right one. And yes, she knows this isn't about her and what she needs, but some of this is about her failure to recognise what her part is in all of this. She's beginning to realise that she doesn't want to let him down, that she'd feel guilty if she missed the signs of him needing her. 

So yeah, maybe he's not her boyfriend. Or maybe he is. But really, does it matter? This is about being there for someone she cares about - and she's proud that she has no hesitation in knowing that that is the feeling that's been blossoming inside her the past few months.

Then again, she could be wrong about him needing her. Meredith could've misread this entirely. All she knows is that he's in a messed up situation, with a childhood's worth of issues and sometimes all the talking in the world won't help with that. She knows the feeling better than most. But she and Andrew aren't the same, despite their shared bond of parents who leave damage in their wake. This is still all new and fresh to him, even if it stems from old wounds.

A deep sigh rattles through his chest. "I don't know. Probably not."

"Probably not?"

He moves away from her and heads towards his couch, throwing himself down and picking up his beer. He takes a sip and continues pulling at the remnants of the label. She trails after him slowly, like approaching a skittish horse. She doesn't want to corner him, but at the same time she doesn't want to let him run too far.

He takes a deep breath, exhales with force. A deep line settles between his eyebrows. "This is a lot, Meredith. This situation. With the research, and my father. His behaviour, god. I can't even-" Andrew slams the beer bottle back down on the coffee table so hard that she's surprised it doesn't shatter. "I wanted to trust him, and I was wrong about him. Again. I feel like such an _idiot_."

She sits down gingerly next to him - not so close that they're touching, but close enough so that she can reach out if she needs to. "It's difficult," she acknowledges, her own brow furrowing. "But, Andrew... it's not your fault."

He looks over at her, and then looks quickly away, like there's something in her expression that he doesn't want to see. "But I should have seen - should have _known_. Carina was right, and I doubted her... but I just wanted my father, just wanted things to be normal. I wanted to _believe_ it could be different." He's starting to spin out, his words tumbling faster and faster, like now that he's started he can't quite stop. "And you warned me. And I was a jerk to you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she reassures him, "you're hurting."

Her choice of words seems to land with him, like he's hearing the reality of it for the first time - owning the emotions that seem to be washing over him in wave after relentless wave. It's something she knows all too well - of bearing the weight of her mother's actions, her father's, and having to learn to turn her back on them in order to keep her own sanity. 

"There's no excuse for me being that way with you. But my father, he makes me crazy." He tilts his head up to the ceiling, letting out a loud huff before looking over at her again. "Meredith, I'm sorry. This isn't light and fun. And it's not your problem to be burdened with. Not when you have no obligation to me." He swallows heavily at the last words, like it pains him to acknowledge what he has buried deep down. She recognises the source: he thinks she doesn't care enough about him for any of this to matter.

If she wanted to, she could feel hurt by his lack of faith in her. But it's not that unreasonable in the reality of things. It had taken them an age to get even this far and yet still they've barely even made it to second base without some sort of drama. 

But Meredith knows that despite all of that, she cares. She cares a lot. And perhaps that's something he should know. Besides, she also recognises the other truth behind his words: that he's also attempting to protect her, to keep her at arm's length during a time when they should be enjoying the lightness, getting to the fun parts. And if he needs to isolate himself temporarily while he works through this all, in order to get back to the ease and the flirtation, she can understand why he might have seen that as a simpler option.

She could call him on all of it. But she doesn't. Instead she sticks to what counts. "Do you really think I don't want to help? That you have to go through this alone?"

He looks over at her guiltily, like he's been caught red handed. "I know I don't have to. But I can't expect that of you, Meredith. You didn't sign up for this, not so soon."

She accepts his recognition that their situation - relationship, whatever they want to call it - is part of a longer timeline, and that, as things stand, they are in their infancy. It's fair, because it's true, and in her bones she knows that's why she fumbled today at the word _boyfriend_ too. But she also knows that things don't always go to plan. Life's not like that, so whatever they are to each other, they can't hide from the things that are going to be thrown at them, whether they're ready or not. 

_Them_. She does like the sound of that.

She twists her body to fully face him, reaches out to curl her hand around his wrist. He stills, almost stops breathing at the contact. 

"Andrew, if you need me, then you shouldn't be afraid to tell me. Because I'm still learning what you need. And sometimes if you leave me to guess, I'll get it wrong. I want to help. And I don't want you to think that I don't care. Because I do. I _do_ care."

She feels her heart swelling a few sizes as she says it, because it's all true, every word. And yes, maybe her mind is still not quite ready to call him her boyfriend, but he's someone that matters to her, and that should've been enough today for her not to give up so easily.

"Thank you," he whispers, turning to face her, his free hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. It's so easy to feel lost under his stare, but it also feels a bit like coming home and being seen for the first time all day by the person that matters most. And in everything, she can acknowledge now that she'd missed him too. The real him, that is - not the one he thinks he has to pretend to be in order not to scare her off. Yes, this is all a lot, especially before they've even had sex, before they've even defined things, but it's all part of who he is, and it's not fair to pick and choose. 

"You're welcome," she smiles. And as if to prove her point she toes off her shoes, and tucks her feet up under herself and manoeuvres so that she's curled up against his side, his warm bulk welcoming and solid. His arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her even further into him, and she feels his lips trace a kiss across her forehead. 

"Can you stay a while?" he asks eventually. He's still staring out into space, but that feels okay. And maybe they don't have to talk about it all right now. What's important is that he doesn't have to push her away, claim solitude, just to protect her from the reality of his life, his ill father, his disappointment in himself at believing in it all for a while, for having hope.

She nods, pressing a kiss just below his ear, noting the way his pulse quickens under her lips. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

He turns and kisses her then, gently and gratefully, just once, a thank you without words. And if that's what he needs then that's fine, because she can't say that she doesn't need that too. She lets him rest his forehead against her shoulder, lets him breathe in and out against her, her hand reaching to brush through his unruly curls that spring up and under her fingers. 

It's intimate and beautiful, and her body reacts in a way that betrays her. But they're not going to have sex tonight, she knows. Because it's not the right time or place, and for him, that sort of thing matters. So tonight she'll let him talk or not talk, and she'll comfort him regardless, because that's what he needs. And what he needs matters.

And if he rests his hand on the curve of her hip, that doesn't mean anything, although she welcomes its presence. And if he then kisses her so ardently that her back arches involuntarily, well, that's okay too. Because comfort is comfort in all its forms, and they're adults. They have willpower. Restraint.

So no, they're definitely not having sex tonight.

And yet. And yet.


End file.
